


you're under my skin

by magisterequitum



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: F/M, Porn, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-05
Updated: 2011-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/pseuds/magisterequitum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt over on the kink meme where Sif has synesthesia and sound translates to touch for her. "Sounds have always been a problem for her, but his voice is something entirely new."</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're under my skin

She has long since known that there is something different about her. She is a shield-maiden, a warrior of Asgard, shunning aside the traditional role of _wifeladydaintyonlytobeseen_ , and longs for the grip of her sword instead of a loom.

But even more so, she is different in that sounds affect her in ways no one else has to bear. The beating of wings from birds overhead is a tiny caress that sets the fine hairs of her arms on end. A sharp clang of something striking the floor is like a hard pinch. Shouts will see the hair on the back of her neck raised and bumps break out all over her body.

It goes on and on, but Sif has learned to deal with it just fine. She’s adapted to it, taken it in as a quirk of her own body, and moved forward.

Until now, when _his_ voice brings forth a reaction that is something else entirely in her.

 

 

\--

 

 

Sif slams the staff down on Fandral’s hand and spins out to the right to follow up with a swift kick to the back of his knee. Her moves send her friend to the ground of the training yard. She laughs, and it is when she bends down to give him her arm to help him rise that she hears the voices of the princes.

Thor stands over the sitting figure of Loki, and scoffs at something the younger points out in the book resting in his lap. They are no louder than any of the others in the yard, but to her ears they might as well be right next to her. It is not Thor’s voice that provokes a reaction in her, but Loki’s when he speaks in return.

Her body goes rigid as she listens to him refute his brother and then explain the spell again, citing its purpose that she does not pay attention to. This is not the sound of birds flying or leave rustling that feel like a light caress or tickle. His voice is fingers sliding under her leathers and stroking the skin of her collarbone, the bend of her arm, and the area behind her knees. Her skin feels tight, stretched out and there is an ache in her, a want for something.

“Shut up.” The words burst forth from her lips with the speed of one of his throwing knives. She cannot call them back or put them back down her throat. And for a moment she regrets the startled look her friend gives her.

If she had been anyone else, a blush would have crept up her face to spill over her features, but as such the only heat she feels is still from his voice. She glowers, and jerks Fandral to stand, never looking away from the two princes, though it is the dark haired one she eyes.

“Some of us are trying to practice,” Sif follows through with this statement. In truth, she wants him gone not for that reason, but because she has never had this reaction before, and cannot stand to have him speak more without her examining the results.

Loki’s face falls, and then his lips twist in a sneer. He bows low as he stands to leave. “I would not wish to intrude upon the Lady Sif any further.”

There, in the arena, she shudders as he walks away.

 

 

—-

 

 

It does not go away.

Loki has always been known for his tongue, the sharp words and twists of phrases and sentences he could create. It is his greatest skill and greatest weapon, and now it sets her body on edge, thrumming with arousal, for that she had figured out after hearing him talk nonstop on one of their most recent hunts; she is left starved for more, and liking none of it.

It is not that Loki is not desirable. He’s her friend though, companion to when it had been three, her and two brothers playing in the dirt of the gardens. She can admit that he is pleasing, and they share similarities in both being different from the normal society of Asgard, the shield-maiden and the magic user.

And because he is her friend and part of their group, it means that Sif finds no relief from him. He is everywhere and never is his mouth silent.

Loki stands at the high end of the table and recounts their latest journey, highlighting each of their individual successes in his storytelling. Sif grits her teeth and leaves half-circles in her palms from where she clenches her fingers into fists.

Loki practices his magic and knife skills in the arena. Sif no longer practices with him, choosing instead to find something else to be occupied with.

Loki offers his advice and knowledge while they lounge in their common room. Sif bites down on her tongue and tries not to shift her thighs too much to be noticeable.

It is worse when he directly speaks to her, and she snaps a response to send his attention elsewhere. Even worse that is never enough to bring her completely off, though that would be mortifying enough to happen in his company or worse everyone else. She spends parts of her nights with her fingers between her legs, buried in her cunt, trying to finish while his voice replays in her mind. She comes with a shuddered gasp and still it is not enough.

 

 

—-

 

 

She can take no more when he bothers her in the catacombs below the library. In truth that is a lie, because it is she who seeks him out for his brother who has need of him, and she only intends to tell him that and leave, but he starts chattering away instantly. She’d forgotten that his books always excited him when he found something new. It is his chatter now that excites her, makes her skin feel stretched out and itchy again, reignites the ache between her legs.

“Shut up,” she repeats her words from weeks ago on the training ground.

He looks up, startled and confused.

“Shut up,” Sif says again, and presses him back and against his table with her body. With her momentum she is heavier than his lanky frame.

His hands fumble when she kisses him, unsure of her sudden forcefulness as she licks her way into his mouth. They settle at her sides, in the dip of waist above where her hips curve out below.

Silencing him works no better now that she has tasted of his mouth. She only craves more and presses closer still.

“Sif,” Loki says when she releases his lips, and her name said so lowly sends a curl of desire down her spine. It is as if he traced fingers down her bare skin, lingered over each of the raised knobs of her back before sliding away.

It is too much and not enough, she cannot tell which. “Your voice,” she moans, and instantly regrets it. Knowledge of yourself is dangerous in Loki’s hands, should he choose to use it, and here she cannot help but think the worst of what he will do with this now.

He stills. “My voice?”

She does not move away, stays against him, and feels every part of his body that relents under the hard press of hers. Her hips rock against his at his question.

His hands press harder into her waist as he says, “Oh.” He knows, of course he knows of her situation as he’s been her friend for so long and known when she was younger, but now makes the connection. Smart, he is.

And then he goes on, “I wonder if I can bring you off by speaking only.”

Sif moans and jerks against him again, rubs herself along the leanness of his body. Her forehead drops to his neck, and her hands to his shoulders.

Loki strokes her side. “Don’t tell me I’ve done it already. Have I?” He leans closer to her ear, breath puffing against the shell of her ear with each exhale. “Did I get you off by speaking alone, Sif?”

The heat is building. She manages to shake her head, a silent ‘no’. The catacombs are cold where they are, but she feels none of it as they lean against the table.

“No?” He hums, a low throaty sound that causes her to jerk again and rub her cunt against his thigh, bearing down on the pressure she needs. He’s doing nothing, not touching her, not moving, only speaking. “Not even when I would talk while you practiced your forms. I know how fighting gets your blood going.”

Close, close, close, she chants in her mind. Speak more she wishes to tell him. His voice is all she wants, he is all she wants right now.

His thumb skates out across her tunic, drags the material up and down. “And what about when I told our tale in the hall last week? I spoke for some time. I had so much to tell about the Lady Sif and her actions. Were you wet as you sat there, surrounded by everyone else, listening to me?”

Sif’s body seizes, and her orgasm hits without warning. Her heart pounds behind her ribcage, and she mouths at his neck where she can reach bare skin.

Loki holds her as she comes down, arms loose behind her back as he bears her weight. “Well, that was interesting,” he murmurs to the side of her face where her hair clings from sweat.

She moans, and pinches him harshly. “Hush. No more for now.”

“For now?” He goes on, and oh won’t he just stop, but no he never is quiet unless forced. “Oh, I do like the sound of that.”

She pinches him again for good measure, but cannot help and already think of what else he could do.


End file.
